


Five Bees

by Saturnsdarkness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: DMLE | Department of Magical Law Enforcement (Harry Potter), Exes, F/M, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Hogsmeade, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Murder, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Requited Love, Saving the World, Secret Identity, The Slytherin Cabal's Twistmas 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturnsdarkness/pseuds/Saturnsdarkness
Summary: DMLE Investigator Hermione Granger was going to solve these ritual murders if it was the last thing she did.  And then to save Yule?  Sure.  And Hogsmeade? Maybe.   She didn't expect to need the help of her secretly a noble ex, the fashion expertise of Pansy, and to find her happy along the way.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Rolf Scamander
Kudos: 6
Collections: Twistmas 2020 - A Dark Remix Xmas Fest





	Five Bees

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Twistmas2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Twistmas2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Hallmark Movies
> 
> A/N 
> 
> I own nothing!  
> *The Pagan concepts are roughly applied to this context.  
> *I am not a native Gaelic speaker. Translations are internal.  
> *I am also painfully american. It felt wrong to use some British words when I'm sure somethings I said wouldn't turn out correctly, potentially.  
> *Hallmark prompts are really 10 tropes in a trench coat  
> *The rules I followed was that it ends with true love. Or something like it.  
> *Tropes Not listed: Secretly a prince, Giving up one profession for something she loves, doesn't want to fall in love
> 
> Happy Twistmas, and a better new year!

Five Bees

Hogsmeade was a quiet place now. The last death eaters were captured months back.

The majority of the self professed purists disappeared once Minster Shacklbolt denounced the secrets and the lies held by some extant political figures. Their flash attack on villages over the summer threw the magical citizens of the british isle into fear. 

This was where Hermione came in. She had never been in the first wizarding war, but her parents fled it. They were muggles-happy, oblivious, and lucky that they survived the assault of muggle towns that Grindelwald appreciated so much. Neither remembered too much. What they did was too perfect, so Hermione went to find out the truth once she graduated hogwarts. She wasn't born into the magical life, so she further specialized in the history of magical locations.

Her grades got her in the door of the ministry, starting as an errand runner, and now, a field researcher. She’d gone through the basic combat training all aurors got, just in case, and read everything she could. The DE attacks was her first team she led. Every attacked village was to be inspected for why that little town was chosen as the blitz victim. Each settlement had different reactions to DMLE’s inspectors. So far, she had only been chased out once. 

Geographical patterns determined Hogsmeade as the next target, Hermione surmised. She was right. Death Eaters waited in the town square as Harry, Ron, and the other Aurors surrounded them. There were no deaths in Hogsmeade despite the chaos. This gave Hermione more fire to fight her superiors as many were quick to say it was over all together.

“Collectively, Grindelwald and his minions terrorized the magical world for 15 years. Why would his devoted be content with 5 months of violence?” Shacklebolt finally nodded, albeit reluctantly, and gave her until the end of the year. “You’re due back in the office in January.” Hermione nodded. That gave her 4 months to solve this case. 

Hermione’s apartment was on the edge of Hogsmeade. It led to the section of the village undergoing “modern” upgrading. She hummed-it was better than the place that had a partial roof two villages before, and it didn’t attract those weird bugs like the previous place did. Her attire hadn’t changed beyond the needs of the weather. They were functional, with pockets, and resistant to magic wear and tear. Muggle products were the only things that contained her hair. By the last day of her research, she’d shed her neat twist and let them curl freely but first impressions mattered. 

The first stop was Hog’s Head. The next night was Three Broomsticks. Together she’d get a few leads to pursue, but first she had to compile notes.

As the owls flew in, Hermione was known to frequent a table in both establishments with a never shortening stack of files and an autorecorder quill. Arthur had gifted her a muggle musical device, a walkman, unbeknownst to him, because it had helped his research immensely. The batteries drained daily, but Hermione appreciated the focus. 

One day, Madam Rosemerta appeared in Hermione’s peripheral vision with a drink. “You have a friend, my dear. Remember, dinner is in an hour.” Hermione blushed, but didn’t comment. She had forgotten to eat a lot with this process. And sleep some days too. Hermione didn’t notice a pattern until the 4th or 5th custom spiced butterbeer with whipped cream. 

She ordered it once to get through a particularly poorly written notebook. Each time she had wanted one, one showed up. 

“These aren’t on my bill. How much do I owe you?” The older blond shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything for it. That gentleman-” She pointed at a now empty table.

“Oh. Well, Lord Riddle was there. He doesn’t like too much attention. He also didn’t tell me not tell you,” the owner shrugged. Regardless, Hermione tipped enough to cover it, packed up, and left. 

She had guests planned, for the first time in forever. Hogsmeade was a magical time during Samhain. People came from near and far. They camped and rented. Luna, Ginny, and Pansy invited themselves to sleep in Hermione’s living room. Luna in particular was there on business and invited for the ritual circle. She’d write about her experience for the Quibbler. 

Pansy and Ginny were already bickering when Hermione got home. 

“That’s classy-”

“That’s half the cup Pans. Hermione deserves the full glass. Where are her fancy things?”

The sisters-in-law brightened immediately when Hermione came in. Luna stood from her meditation circle, clearly murmuring a script from memory, to commit further to memory. 

“Your Squirbles have more energy than you and they sleep 16 hours a day!” Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn’t doubt the wife of the magizoologist in her expertise but changed the subject. “Well murders don’t solve themselves! I stopped owning anything glass 2 months ago when the graffhorns flocked to destroy the farmer’s market I stayed over. Here. It’s called plastic and it’s cheap.” Pansy and Ginny shared looks of horror at the large red and gold tumblers. 

“It’s okay,” Pansy said suddenly. “We’ll celebrate us all being here today. And use proper glasses tomorrow, and the party tomorrow. We won’t remember Saturday, and Sunday we will get hangover breakfast. ”

Hermione did a quick tally of her known events. “What party? I don’t know the Lord well enough to get one.” Pansy smirked, holding up three invites. “I know people. You got one, and you’re going.” 

In theory, Hermione opposed none of the nights, next morning, or afternoon’s activities. Socializing would get her contacts. Drunk wizards spilled secrets. She specified that her dress had to hide bra straps and she wished to be able to sit without flashing anyone. “Did you intentionally dress everyone else in old hogwarts colors or did you forget we are on the later half of 20?” Pansy had that smile, one that concerned Hermione, but made Ginny go strangely neutral. Something was up, and it had to do with the illusion of a low neckline of Hermione’s dark green dress. 

“Our carriage is here,” Luna announced. 

Hermione sighed before she locked the door behind her. 

It was easy to get into a friendly frame of mind when she remembered that she intended to use this to improve her investigation. Hermione started at her neighbors. In a few hours she reconnected with other town patrons she’d ran into. After dinner, she took a half hour to write down what she remembered into her rememquill. Pansy was coming so Hermione hurried up her notes. 

“You haven’t danced at all tonight.”

“I don’t need to. I’m getting what I need.” Pansy eyed her rememquill. “Ginny was right. You are working. She told me that she would hex all of your comfortable shoes if she found out. Do you want me to tell her?” Hermione shuttered. Ginny was excellent at hexes. “I thought so. One dance and I’ll leave you alone.” 

“Done.”

It was the Fantasie, Hermione realized as the string band tuned. Women faced one way, men another, and they were divided by a curtain. This old manor had a dark gothic vibe in reds, blacks, and severely gothic-romantic design choices. There were snakes everywhere, gold and silver. Until now, Hermione hadn’t bothered to look at the paintings and wallpaper in the public areas. Waiting for the Fantasie, Hermione recalled it was the dance that paired up people with their soul mates, in old times. In old times, they also burned fireproof witches at the stake. Now it wasn’t so mystical, but Rita Skeeter wouldn’t have thought twice about writing a fake wedding announcement for everyone involved. Fortunately it was close to a muggle waltz. That was one of a few dances Hermione remembered from her muggle educated years. 

The song started while the curtain rose into magical nothingness. Hermione spun gracefully. An expectant Lord Riddle, a picture she only had seen in the newspapers so far, held his hand out. She started in the right steps but her thoughts raced. 

There was a reason the waltz was banned in some parts of the world. His hands were warm on her waist and hand. His eyes were a startling dark color of brown. Hermione smiled politely back as his perfectly pleasant expression never moved. The song ended. He didn’t let go of her hand. 

“You’re not sure where to start. It has been a few years. Find my steward once you leave. We’ll make an appointment.” His clipped tone with the smallest measurable amount of amusement didn’t match his controlled mask.

“How do you know that?!” Her question came out as a shrieky shout as he walked away. He never turned around, except when he saw her as he turned to find his friends. Lord Tom Riddle smiled. He spoke to a few guests, but his eyes never left hers.

Frustration spiked in Hermione as she too was surrounded by her friends. “And now you’ve managed to find the hot, mysterious, host who has never ever danced the Fantasie until this year.” Ginny smiled wryly. “I'm not jealous. I have Harry. But you have dumb luck, my friend. And like repeating history.” 

Meanwhile, Pansy said nothing to Hermione and spoke to Luna over a refill. 

The night wound down into the morning. Hermione wasn’t tired, but she was confused. She danced several more times: Lord Malfoy, the oldest Lords present, and Lord Sirius Black, who was a fantastic conversationalist were the most approachable. Lord Lestrange scared Hermione. She couldn’t place why. 

Hermione waited for Steward Pettigrew in a sitting room. 

“Tom is running late, he does apologize.” A tall woman with wild dark hair and a dramatic windswept black gown swooped onto the seat across from Hermione. “I’m Lady Lestrange. You will call me Bella. I’m Sirus’ cousin, and Rudolphus’ wife.” Hermione blinked, and she was being handed tea. “I’ll cut to the chase, as Tom hates the small details.” 

“We do have the answers you’ve been assigned to find.”

“Why are you making this easy.” Hermione stilled as an almost creepy laugh escaped Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Tom wondered if you’d think that. Really, it’s simple.” Bella’s cup clinked loudly on her plate.

“The men who your organization arrested are the correct people. However, you didn’t capture people technically. You also don’t know what crime is happening, if one could call it a crime. Really, if you stop it, all the magic that is in Hogsmeade will disappear. If you don’t stop it, there will be a lot more questions and alot of obliviates. I’ll let you guys sort that part out. Lord Riddle will be in contact.”

~

Samhain was a community affair. One could hide in the dark with noise blocking charms or get swept up by the enthusiasm, and Hermione couldn’t do the first when Luna was already going to be involved. Together they had barricaded Hogwarts on the occasion Grindelwald followed through on his threat to attack them. Ultimately, he was caught in Muggle London. Hermione remembered the victorious atmosphere. 

She was also good at organizing, and that was what she did until nightfall. She wandered around as Pansy’s idea of The Moon, Tarot edition, costume afterwards with a warm mug of alcoholic cider. Pansy went as the Star. Ginny was the Sun. Pansy produced robes of the appropriate colors and all of them had too many sequins. The jewelry weighed too much for Hermione to appreciate. 

Hermione found herself in front of a fortune teller’s tent. Madame Lucke was legitimate in the papers. She spoke at specialty boards. Here, she wandered in a flounced skirt around her colorful house on wheels, looking at palms for tip money. 

“You’re next, m’dear.” Hermione didn’t remember getting in this line, but she followed. Be spontaneous, Ginny had said. It would do her some good. The voice had no face, but she could hear another walking in the short maze into the main room of the fortune tent. The lights dimmed through all the silk. Her toe caught a root and she tripped. Her tiara fell into a shadow. She crawled around as the previous customer rounded a corner, tiara in hand.

“Lord Riddle.”

“Tom. We’ll be working together. Let me help you,” he said as she shook briefly. 

He was taller than her, but not outrageously so, and she already was pretty average to start. It was too dark to see what he wore. It felt silky, almost wet. She wiped it on her black skirt. Tom seemed to know what he needed to do to make her unruly hair stay put. In a quick move, he kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you later.” 

“We still haven’t spoken in years!” 

Hermione emerged from the tent what felt like hours later, although it was most likely only minutes. It was easy to find her friends. The ritual was supposed to start soon.

“What’s bothering you?” Ginny inquired. She poured more firebrandy into Hermione's ever full cider. “I went to the damn fortune teller.” Pansy and Ginny were equally surprised. Hermione hated divination. “I got good news.” Confusion met Hermione’s words. 

“The last lover I ever would have I’ve already met. He’ll crown me his queen.” 

“Love is usually a good thing, ‘Mione.” Hermione snorted, but stopped anything further. Ginny was only trying to be nice. “Yeah, well. There are no exes I wish to revisit. Some of my exes are married. And I’ve successfully avoided every reunion attempt for school. A muggle is out of the picture. And Mcladden ruined me for coworkers. And one walked away, willingly.” 

Pansy shrugged. “She hasn’t been wrong yet. You met several people yesterday. Tom! Over here!” The large and numerous bonfires around the open fields cast them all in an orange light and shadows. “Tom..?” Hermione muttered to herself. It was awkward enough to work with him, let alone relive memories. 

“Hurry. Hermione, scoot down.” Immediately she had Tom between her and Pansy, and the Lestranges sat on the other side. Bella waved at her, like she was completely sane. Her husband made Hermione physically move away.

Right into Tom’s personal space. He took it with grace, moving his arm to the back of the bench. Pansy spoke to him like old friends. 

Hermione was extremely uncomfortable. Something itched at her psyche. Lucius would have been okay. Pettigrew was tolerable. Sirius had plans tonight, and wouldn’t be in attendance. 

Lucius arrived late, so they all shuffled even closer. Tom’s hand curled around her shoulder. It wasn’t what she hoped for, but she was no longer touching Lord Lestrange. 

The ritual started and Hermione forgot the rest of the night. Like all the best high magic rituals, she remembered them best in dreams and in passing. It didn’t start until after everyone had gone home. 

It was now so quiet. 

Her first clue that something had changed was a table, already set up at Hogs Head, with her favorite drink, a pitcher of water, and an assortment of her favorite foods on a plate.

Her second was that she was unable to pay at both places unless she argued. 

Her final clue was her reprieve into the nearest bookshop. She didn’t need anything. The smell of books was just so good. 

“Hello,” the shop girl said. 

“Anna. I don’t think we’ve met.” Hermione stared. She had been in the store countless times, and not once had they noticed her unless she was in their face. Regardless, “Hello. I’m Hermione.” They made small talk until the point where Hermione needed an out. An old book, something she really hadn’t had thought about buying, was in her hand. She put the coins on the table. “Oh, Lord Riddle has an account. Would you like me to put on his?” 

Hermione stared. “Why?”

Confused, the girl blushed. She took the coins. The awkwardness increased tenfold to the point where Hermione wasn’t looking where she was walking. 

She stumbled. Hermione waited for the cold hard brick found in the area’s buildings, but instead it was warm, strong, and woolen.

“Hello Ms. Granger. Are you okay.”

“To-Lord Riddle-”

“Tom is fine.” Hermione stared once more. She shriveled up in the little awkward shell she had despite her perfect posture. “Uh, thank you. I’m fine. Is tomorrow okay still?” 

His features were far too perfectly balanced. Hermione didn’t like it. “Yes, but we need to change times if that’s alright. I have a meeting at dusk. Is 7 okay?”

“Doesn’t that put that in the dinner hour?” Tom smiled. “Yes. Do you object?” Hermione’s heart jumped into her chest. “No.” The voice wasn’t hers, the quiet, stick to the shadows Hermione. It was the voice that Hermione used when she fought for this project.

“Excellent. I’ll send Bella over with a carriage at 6:00.” He took her hand and pulled her in. With a kiss on the cheek he entered the bookstore. 

Hermione had to floo Pansy. Or Ginny. Or even Crookshanks. What was going on?

~

“Do you want me to come over?”

Pansy’s head was tiny in Hermione’s ministry issued, portable verbal floo. The PVF was new to the field as a transportable full floo wasn’t succeeding in labs yet. 

“Really. I can be there at 6:30.” 

Hermione frowned. That was too late. “Thanks, but she’s coming over before then. One quick question then. What should i transfigure, the black or the blue dress?” She glossed over the fact that yes, she knew that a transfigured dress was easily distinguishable from a real magical dress to the right eye.

She was a field researcher. Dresses weren’t part of her go bag. They’d live. 

“Black if you want to fall into bed with him tonight, and blue if you want to deny it. Everyone knows that you two should’ve stayed together.” Hermione shut the PVF on Pansy without response. 

She waited by the door at 5:55. At 6:05, she started reading some of her inspiration magazines for her attire, and at 6:19, Bellatrix Lestrange knocked on her door. 

It was ridiculous how she stood out-the more glamorous side of the magical world in a very mediocre mass produced housing foyer. 

Hermione bowed her head before greeting. “Oh, save that for Lady Malfoy. If I want you to kneel, I will tell you.” Hermione stood with mouth agape. “Well,” Bella continued, “at least you don’t need too much work. Tom likes natural curls, so-”

“Leave them up then. I want answers, not to be confined in marriage.” Any other wizard that wasn’t Ron, or a noble, would have been fine with Hermione working after marriage. After the first burn, Hermione swore off pureblood marriages. Bella barked a loud laugh.

“Come then. You’ll be early but he has a library. I’m sure you won’t be too sad.” 

Muggleborn Hermione still didn’t know everything about the magical world. It was what kept her in Hogwarts instead of a proper university like med school, or an oxford professor. 

“You really don’t think he’s interested in you, do you Granger?” Hermione hadn’t heard that reference outside of the office in a long time, and after Draco Malfoy had decided that only he could call her that.

“I forgot you’re Malfoy’s Aunt. He’s the only one that got away with that.” Hermione hoped she wouldn’t have to ask, but that Bella would get the hint. The wild eyed woman did, but her eyes crinkled in amusement. 

“Apologies. Hermione, Tom likes you, if you didn’t realize.” Hermione shrugged. “He could have found me again. I doubt he is that busy. He’ll forget once this is settled.” Or abandoned by the DMLE. Bella dropped it and let them ride in silence.

Hermione was shown to the library. She gave her cloak to the house elf, Norman. He wore a patchwork suit of discarded kitchen towels and a feather from a fancy hat in his bun. “Does Miss need anything?” He reminded Hermione of Kreacher in some ways, but didn’t have the chaotic bias of the old Black house elf. “No, thank you.” She finally got to see the heart of the library. Her jaw dropped.

Merlin, she could take a few rumors to study here. 

Tom found Hermione in the nearest book she could find about the history of Hogsmeade. 

“You can read old english, I see.” Hermione dropped the book, pulled down her dress, and sat up in one ungraceful swoop. Her bright red bra strap peeked out from her wide strapped, blue dress. “I-yes. I can. I’m sorry.” Tom pressed his lips. He smiled with his eyes. “Don’t be. If Norman didn’t insist on a proper meal with ladies present I’d say we can eat here. Shall we?”

Hermione hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat. They bypassed the large rooms she had already seen, to a smaller room of heavy black furnishings and large drapes around the walls. She and Tom entered a room with several occupants. This was an intimate space with unexpected familial warmth, and two spots available. “Sit where you’d like.” Hermione looked up at him before looking at her choices.

His right, or Lord Lestrange’s side. Either one put Malfoy Sr on either side of her. Hermione gestured to the one nearest Tom. Two chairs between her and Lestrange already felt better. 

“We will dine and then Hermione will ask us questions. Remember, we need her more than she needs us.” 

~

Hermione was home before midnight and had one hell of a headache. What was in the fancy wine?

She did have answers at least. Her rememquill was incredible and wrote down everything. She sorted out the notes, keeping all of it just in case she had to refer back to something that at the moment, she deemed useless. 

Hermione turned on her walkman. Today was a day to stay close to the toilet. She was deep in summarizing the magical history of Hogsmeade, as dictated by hundreds of years of pureblood lore to justify this place as their final violent act. A large ‘POP’ scared Hermione off the terrible pre-furnished chair. 

“Merlin. Norman?” Today he wore a cloak of more discarded household materials-a shower curtain in part and an old couch in others, over his suit.

“Master told me Missus was not feeling good. Pure wine not good for muggle blood even though Master shows no illness from it. I asked if I could bring soup.” Soup was an understatement. It was a basket of never ending things, including her very muggle hangover food of cheese fries. 

“Thank you. You really-”, and before she could finish her words, he was gone. Perhaps those were his orders. Norman however seemed to function on his own accord, and Tom merely gave him honorary approval. 

The basket came in handy. She made great progress in the ‘where’ components. ‘Who’ was harder because none of the arrested ever spoke. The ‘when’ seemed to have a magical meaning on a full moon, on a layline, and with pentamation method of victim choice based on original population.

‘Why’, ‘what’, and ‘who’ continued to be her problem. She looked for Madam Lucke. Every owl Hermione sent came back. 

When she felt better-and had exhausted all of her notes-she decided she needed to focus on astrology. On the way, she would stop in to thank Norman. It occurred to her that an owl would have sufficed. Tom would have probably appreciated not being bothered, but she was there to see Norman after all. It wasn’t clothing she brought, but fudge from the local shop. It had asafetida in the mix. Kreacher loved it. It was the only thing she had to calm him down when Harry was gone on missions. 

The house elf opened the door. “Miss! Let me-” Hermione shoved her fudge container to him quickly. “No, please don’t! This is for you to take freely.” Norman turned his head in confusion. “Norman? Did I have an appointment?” The elf became flustered. He lost his words briefly. “Uh, No, Master,” Norman rambled out. Tom patiently stood there for him to finish. “It’s appreciation for his help. I didn’t give him any clothes or anything.” Tom nodded. He dismissed the grateful elf.

“I was just on the way to town, so I thought I’d stop by. Sorry to bother you.” Hermione intended to quit imposing. She tried leaving quickly. “What for? I too have a few errands.” His casual words begged for her to reply in acceptance of his company. Could she refuse? “Bookstore, mostly. Would you like to walk with me?” He smiled, and disappeared, before reappearing with his cloak. “Thank you, yes.” 

His company did little in ways to change her plans after all. He was excellent at small talk. This was a skill Hermione never had without help. They parted at the cross-section between the marketplace and downtown. 

“Good luck. I always hated astronomy and divination myself.” 

Hermione watched him leave with no memory of telling him her purpose. He seemed to have a habit of knowing these things as well. Most of her friends would say that it was romantic. He was already figuring her out faster than some did in years.

Hermione was a pessimist with little belief in the function of romance however. The next morning she sent an owl to Professor McGonagall. She walked to Hogwarts on the next nice day. The weather was getting colder, but it wasn’t terrible yet. She cast a warming charm on the way out. 

A worst kept secret was that a standard warming charm did nothing against wind. There was a reason thick cloaks were all the rage, but Hermione had a muggle coat and a standard cloak. It had never occurred to her to get a winter cloak for the purpose when it was convenient, and she always just dealt with it.

It was a short walk to the paths that ran under hogwarts. The scenery was nice. Hermione checked her watch-20 minutes early. The lake was pretty this time of year and all the snow hadn’t come quite yet. 

Did the giant squid hibernate during winter? She mused this, and other things for a few moments until something crashed in the forest.

Her feet moved before she could contemplate the stupidity of investigating anything going THUMP in the forbidden forest. 

There was only one step of footsteps in the snow. Regardless, Hermione readied her wand. The positive side is that the forest creatures were still noisy. Whatever fell can’t be that bad. Or a tree.

Hermione stilled. She heard labored breathing. A deep breathe and an aggressive point later-

“Tom?!”

~

Hermione waited by the fire in the Great Hall. McGonagall had a class now, but she was fine with Hermione lingering. She held a warm cup of hot chocolate under a blanket. At best, she’d maybe recall the 7th years, and maybe the 6th years, and anyone with siblings, but she didn’t know their faces. However, they seemed to know her. 

“Are you Hermione Granger?”

A 4th year Ravenclaw and her Gryffindor friend wandered over.

“I am. Who are you?” They were to both become prefects next year. One by one, students came closer. They had questions-her and Tom’s reign as Heads was apparently part of Hogwarts history. 

To them, they just wanted to do a good job and keep the castle in behavioral order. They never fought. It was easy for them to de-escalate conflict between students and for the most part, agreed on what the worst things were students could do. They even had a chart of points to remove for reference. 

It was easy to say yes when he asked her to the Holiday Ball. Why shouldn’t it work? It didn’t, was the moral of the story, and Hermione was speechless as to reason why. The ease of which he seemed to adjust to them being better as friends threw Hermione. She eventually reached the same conclusion, if nothing else, to keep the peace between them. 

A house elf popped up next to the fire. 

“Ms. Granger? Mr. Riddle wants to see you.” 

The excitement that bubbled up around her reminded her that excitable hormonal teenagers never changed. She ignored the questions-were they dating? Did they get married? Hermione deflected and denied, pushing through them politely. She walked quickly but saw the occasional curious face around her. The bells for the next class started. Hermione stopped suddenly and turned around. Madam Pomfrey’s wing was one door away. 

“Do you want me to deduct points? Don’t be late!” They forgot that Hermione could no longer deduct points, but that didn’t make her sad that her followers dispersed. She was shaking her head as she entered the medical ward. 

Madam Pomfrey hid a smile behind her calm and firm demeanor. Tom didn’t hide his amusement. 

Tom. It was easy to forget he made her so nervous in the outside world. 

“I see you’re still the terrifying one.” Hermione noticed the small pile of get-well candy on his table. “And I see you still have admirers.”  
She checked the time, and then sat down on the stool by the bed. “You have an appointment, to?”

They spoke like they were still in the same dorm with topics that they had in their careers and lordships. Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat before coming around the dividing curtain. They watched in comfortable unison as neither had anything urgent to hide from her “intrusion”. 

“Well, you’ll both be okay. You need to stop climbing trees Mr. Riddle. You’re too old to have such...shenanigans.” Madam Pomfrey’s reaction told Hermione that she too didn’t quite understand his story: harvesting mushrooms from the middle part of a tree for a potion. That was an ingredient however, so Hermione didn't quite not believe him either. 

“You can go. Will you help keep him quiet Ms. Granger? He has a couple hours still for the potions to work through his system.” 

“We aren’t-”  
“She’s not-”

They stopped and realized that they were being listened in on, or watched, at the same time. Several students, Madam Pomfrey, and a couple interns from St. Muggos, to be exact. Professor McGonagall joined the crowd as she came down to check on one of her former students. 

“Hello Professor, I was about to be up.” 

“I see.” and truly, she probably did. “She has an appointment with me, but Mr. Riddle is welcome to wait until she’s done. They are both in Hogsmeade if the rumors are true.” 

It wasn’t a secret that Tom Riddle found out he had a title waiting for him after his 21st birthday, and that home was in Hogsmeade. Hermione had been seen by enough students and been in the papers as an investigator, as well. 

“Yes, I’ll wait for Hermione if that’s okay.” 

Hermione wasn’t sure if she was relieved or worse as she spoke with McGonagall through the halls. They arrived at her office. “Biscuit? You said you needed perspective.” 

“I do. I also have questions about legilimency.” McGonagall quietly, and carefully listened to Hermione. Hermione really wanted to be subtle. McGonagall was very patient but increased her exasperation as Hermione rambled. 

“IthinkTomisalegilimens.” It wasn’t a bad secret, but people just didn’t talk about those types of skills. Often those people became an unspeakable-not an independently wealthy noble. “Yes”, Minerva said simply. “He is a legilimens. He learned control from Severus and Quirell, when he still lived.” 

That was too easy. Hermione didn’t know what to do. “How do I tell him to keep out of my head?” Minerva McGonagall smiled ever so much, and her eyes twinkled just enough to be noticed. “May I be frank?” Hermione blinked. “Yes.”

“He wants you to see him in a romantic light. It was quite the shock when we never heard of a wedding between you.” Professors noticed this thing? Hermione was horrified to be so transparent. “Don’t worry dear. We do try to keep out of things. But he never was good at keeping his secret about feelings for you. I suspect he forgot to...be polite, when he found out you’d be near. He had fairly good control upon his skills unless he was emotionally flustered. Tell him, either way.” So many thoughts circulated in Hermione’s mind, ranging from packing up and leaving right then, to joy. 

“What if I don’t feel the same way? It didn’t work out before.” McGonagall sipped her tea. “I suggest talking to him first. And perhaps not having your first fight in the middle of the grand staircase.” Hermione ignored the red creeping up her face.

Hermione found him in the courtyard. The snow was falling heavier, but not too heavy to make her consider staying the night. A snowball hit the wall past both of them. Together, they turned to stare at the clumsy student. The kid clearly had another target in mind, and that target dove in a very large pile of snow.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve done this”, she observed. Students came out of all corners of the grounds. The sun wasn’t quite set, but it was getting there. The professors would let them play out their energy. The students would think they got away with things. 

“I had my first snowball fight my first year here.” Hermione glanced at him. “Didn’t you-?” Didn’t he grow up with many other kids, in the orphanage, for better or for worse? Tom knew where she was going, even if she didn’t put words to it. One didn’t point out that another was an orphan. It was what Harry and himself had in common. 

“No. We didn’t really get along.” While they spoke, more snow came toward the former Heads. They moved often to avoid becoming snow casualties. A snowball hit Hermione clearly in the back of the head while Tom smiled, broadly. “You thought that was funny, Tom?” Slowly, Hermione knelt down to grab snow. She packed it while her eyes never left his face. 

He never saw her signaling behind her back to call for reinforcements. 

“I think you should try it. Fire!” Snowballs flew over Hermione's crouched form, and she backed into a line of younger students, original snow ball in hand. 

It was too snowy and dark to get back to Hogsmeade once they were done. Flushed and overdressed, they took blankets, hot drinks, and the invite to sit by the fire as the school wound down for night. Hermione considered using the Headmaster’s floo. She didn’t bring it up. 

Filch limped up to them some time later. Mrs. Norris came and wound herself around their legs. It had long been discussed that she didn’t actually like them. She was planning an elaborate murder by tripping them. “Headmaster suggested ye’ use the vacant Head’s dorm. It’s made up for ya. They had to leave early for the holidays.” He was a gruff old man who hated most people, but really, he hated disorder. Neither of them could really find fault with that. Filch and Mrs. Norris wandered off to chase the curfew bell. 

Left to their own devices, Hermione and Tom stared into the fire. Their butts went numb with the hard seats. “I’m staying,” Hermione concluded. She had nothing waiting for her at home really. The charming Tom always had words, but to Hermione, “Okay.” He followed as if it was the natural thing to do. 

Neither needed directions. It was easy to see what side the Head on grounds stayed in, and that the resident had waved to them. The ravenclaw girl was covering rounds alone with a prefect tonight. The other was a hufflepuff, so blue and yellow brightly decorated the room. The modified empty bedroom had a divider and a second bed. Heads dorms were floors above the dungeon dorms and had a curvature to the entire room. This allowed windows all around the tower and a feature Hermione loved to read by. Someone had laid pajamas on the bed. 

The air was thick to Hermione as she waited for him to be done in the bathroom. He was a legilimens. She wanted to trust his intentions but Tom hadn’t told her. Was he ashamed? Proud?

Tom found her on the couch in front of the fire. He smiled at the familiar sight.

“I should’ve known-”  
“We need to talk.” 

“Last time you said that we... We ah, well. Aren’t there. What’s wrong?” He stammered nervously through a confident facade. 

“Put a shirt on and I’ll tell you.” Hermione had gone bright right in part anxiety, another at an unexpectedly showered Tom in a robe. 

“Just a shirt?” She threw a pillow at him as he ran up stairs. 

He came down in a red shirt. She wasn’t sure if he meant that. 

They had a game, way back when. Hermione would wear something green. Tom would wear red. The first to break lost. Hermione had excellent control.

Hermione had to put that out of her mind for the time being.

“Why didn’t you tell me youre a legilimens?” 

Apparently, that wasn’t what he expected her to ask. He blinked his dark eyes at her and twitched his fingers. “I-Yes. I am.” Hermione pointed a very chewed first finger nail at him. “And you,” Hermione struggled for the right words. “Read my mind? Several times?” Tom abruptly nodded. “Yes. and probably some times I didn’t even know I was doing it.” She narrowed her eyes.

“You aren’t lying? Or trying to-” Tom moved quickly to the middle of the couch. His knee touched hers, but he didn’t press further.

“Yes. No.”

“Which is it?”

“No. I didn’t know then. I don’t always know now but I’m trying.” 

Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat. She hadn’t planned to ever miss him, and didn’t, and she didn’t plan to want him back-but she did.

“We should go to bed.” That look crossed his face. “No, not now. Make me dinner, read me a book. And we’ll talk.” She leaned forward and kissed him. The dazed look never left his face even as she disappeared into the bedroom first.

It was an uneventful, butterflies in the stomach walk back to Hogsmead once the weather cleared. He left her at her door, kissed her hand, and promised to Owl her later. 

She tried for an hour to focus her thoughts from McGonagall’s suggestions, but threw her quill down in annoyance. Pansy’s miniature head appeared in her PVF. It was a blessed distraction. “You rang?”

“I didn’t actually. What’s up?”

“Tom told Lucius who told Draco who told me that you two have a date. I assume you plan to go in sweatpants.” Hermione had thought about alot of things, but not specifically that, not yet. She really didn’t have fancy clothing.

“He hasn’t even owled me the details. Where am I going?” Hermione accepted this with a laugh. It hadn’t changed too much since school really. Tom came through when it mattered if history was going to repeat itself. 

The owl confirmed what Pansy knew, but in a much more eloquent wording.

That reservation only, 10 person expensive restaurant in Hogsmeade, sundown at town square. Wizard formal dress code was required. 

“I have nothing like that.” Pansy smirked. “I know. Expect the delivery in a couple hours. I had to pay extra to rush it. Bye! Don’t make him cry. Slytherin boys are miserable when they cry.” 

Hermione arrived early to watch the sunset over hogsmeade. She appreciated the layers of robes so her cloak didn’t feel too thin for once. The stones around the square were different from the rest of the bricks, she saw as she kicked snow around. She kicked around the full circle and marveled at the strange iridescent dark stone. A smaller pattern went towards the fountain. They turned the water off when it was cold and put a tree in the middle of it. The mostly solid grate stuck out between the drifting snow and tree as an unexpectedly modern design in the old town. 

She was piecing together odd information, deep in thought, when, “Boo.” Hermione jumped, backwards into Tom. He smiled against her hair. 

“You still get lost in your head, I see.” Hermione stepped away with a faint color on her cheeks. Tom showed no remorse in his mischievousness. 

“I noticed-never mind. I heard your plans from Pansy by the way. Might want to tell her to keep her mouth shut if you want to surprise me next time.” Tom offered her his arm. “You know I don’t do anything without premeditation. You look very nice tonight, as well.”

It was Hermione’s rule to not talk about work, which doubled down on the high discretion recommended by the ministry on this particular matter. Tom’s rule was to try to talk less about himself, but it circled around to him anyways after Hermione realized she really didn’t have much outside of the few friends she connected to still and the office. 

It was a humbling realization. “What was the last book you read for fun?” Hermione looked up into the horizon in thought. They had eaten, got a drink or two, and neared the bookstore, she realized. “Uh. Pixie Pride and-”

“Nope. That was a case of yours.” Hermione shook her head. “Why do you know that?”

“Public record, dear. You are a fascinating topic.” She snorted. “To you, maybe.”

“Yes. Absolutely to me.” His serious tone and his hand pulled her to a stop. She met him eye to eye. “You are going to get a book that has nothing to do with any of your work. We are going to go back to the Manor. I’m going to leave you with Norman and you will finish that book.”

“But my case-”

“The ritual murders can wait. Go in. I’ll still be here.” 

It had been a lovely day in solitude in the best library Hermione had ever encountered. It should figure that of course Tom would accidentally have the library of her dreams, and be independently wealthy, and somehow not be the asshole the upset and broken hearted Hermione remembered from school.

The honest truth was that they were both mad at a whole series of things and their relationship was the easiest to control the ending to. Norman gave her a blanket and a pillow, and Tom wandered in with a breakfast tray the next morning. 

Hermione had maybe slept a few hours after she threw herself in taking advantage of all the reading she could get done in 12 hours. 

“Hello, I thought you might like food.” Tom pointed out the paper he read, delivered to the library as ordered on a normal day. Norman brought coffee in for each of them-a nasty habit they developed during their busy seventh year. Pepperup potions and smuggled muggle caffeine pills only went so far. 

“I have a meeting today. It’s a small society of magical nobility. You are welcome to stay and afterwards we usually go to one of the lounges. Bella is terrifying at exploding snap.” 

“I don’t wish to bother you. We have other nights.” Tom set his cup down with a louder than expected clink. “I’ve waited a very long time to get you to listen. I don’t want to waste nights when I could have just more nights with you.” Hermione sat up, and stretched. 

Today she had a green tank top under her sweater that peaked through. He chewed his lip, and Hermione knew she had his attention. “I’m saying yes, but to be clear. You haven’t read to me yet.” 

Hermione was fine working alone. It was argued she worked better alone, so with a few rules, she settled in the library.

Her hard copy notes were in the ministry safe box disguised as an old hairbrush but she memorized whatever she could, whenever she could. 

If Tom became a suspect this would be a huge conflict of interest. Moving forward hopefully, Hermione focused on the fairly innocent topic of astrology.

She was fine, mostly, in astrology, but was terrible on divination uses of it. 

That led to lots of notes and angry faces in the margins. She didn't like to fail.

Around noontime, Hermione ventured on a walk on the grounds. She had seen some of it in passing, but she was curious and needed to arrange her thoughts. 

Her first observation was that the old architecture of Hogsmeade, as this was one of the oldest homes, featured a lot of geometry. 

Her second was that geometry had a whole section in astrology and Hermione hadn't understood why divination, arithmancy, and astrology only had one section of an entire curriculum for a large multidisciplinary field. 

Instead she laid in the snow against a bank of the small lake in the property and let the dread build up. 

Meanwhile, Tom stretched his legs on a break from the Lords Assembly, today located in the Green Room. He didn't mind hosting these. It kept them all close. 

Hermione's dark coat stuck out among the snowy grounds. She had taken his invitation to explore, he saw. 

"By most pureblood standards, you two would be engaged now," Lucius rumbled from next to him. 

"Good news, neither of that applies to us."

Lucius was still curious. He could feel it. "She fell asleep in the library last night. Given my intentions, it was more prudent to let her use the research materials here than send for her at that atrocity of those apartment complexes."

“So you intend to apologize for being an ass on March 23rd around 2 pm?” Draco came up on the other side of Tom. Lord Lucius Malfoy was teaching Draco the lordly ways between Draco’s normal job at the ministry. He was prohibited by title to judge or capture, but he could represent in the Wizengamot theater. 

“Why do you remember our breakup fight?” It was public, yes. Tom in no ways expected others to care about them once they graduated. Draco was not ashamed of his financial endeavors. He had run a very successful betting book off of a variety of incidents in Hogwarts, and Pansy helped him with astrological accuracy. 

“I lost a lot of money. I had it during closing exams in May and she’d storm off, and you’d storm off, and my wild card win was on marriage later that summer.” Tom and his father stared at the young Malfoy. 

“Do I need to give you more to do on the estate? Also, march was a much more logical time period, or the holiday’s son. Did your mother and my brief separation teach you nothing?”

Tom listened to the familial bickering. Hermione was comfortable in her social standing. He was comfortable in his growing social standing. He was uncertain how to blend the two comforts. 

“Isn’t Pettigrew’s birthday coming up?” The Malfoys silenced themselves and looked at him with identical grey eyes. 

“Next weekend. An informal affair, wives welcome. Why?”, Malfoy senior drawled. Draco slowly smiled. “Because Lord Riddle plans to bring a plus one.”

Lucius looked over Tom. Concern replaced his amusement. “Lord Monroe is approaching.” 

Lord James Monroe was a new title who had worked his family up through the political ranks to get territory. It was the most northern of the titled lands but poor in resources. He traded resources for lobbying on behalf and sold his votes. Tom didn’t begrudge him his methods.

Tom hated him because he pushed pureblood rites on any assembly he could, although he himself only traced back 5 generations of magical purity. Lord Monroe refused to accept the proper way to enact rites: privately. Tom entered the scene on his 21st birthday and held more social sway than the middle aged new blood due to territory and his public personality. His excess was represented by his large gut but he had the swagger of someone of greater pride.

“So the rumor is true. You are keeping a pet Mudblood.” 

Tom smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, his loyal friends knew, but Monroe was neither. “Hello James. How’s your son? He’s 18 now, yes?”

Hermione came back in cold and desired a warm drink in front of a fire. She went past the Green Room to listen. It was a different mood than when she left, but the right mood didn’t come to mind. It was tense. Considering she left when they were all shouting, the polite verbiage was a distinct change. 

She didn’t notice the man with the disproportionate gut and smug express come from the public bathroom behind her. Hermione smiled politely when he said hello. She had no idea what to do as he stared at her like a wild animal. Was her hair a wreck? Did she have lunch in her teeth?

“Huh. You’re prettier than the rest. You could pass for a Lady.” Hermione cocked her head. 

“Thanks. You don’t pass for a gentleman.” The words came from her mouth before she could stop them. Truthfully, she didn’t regret any of them even if he was related to a king centuries before. 

Inside the doorway, where everyone else was waiting for Monroe to come back to make their final votes for the evening, this was clearly auditable. Most had the dignity to stifle their laughs or shock. Tom bit the inside of his lip. 

“I need a list of his staff.” Only a few heard his words: Lucius, Nott, Goyle and few others. They were the only ones that needed to hear however.

“His son is old enough to be mentored by you”, Lucius offered carefully. He believed in the loyalty of staff over the trust of most family. The Malfoys had a bloody family history. 

“And that may well come into play. But the climax to any story needs a crescendo. Bring me the list.” 

Lords Crabbe and Goyle sighed. This is why they wore black.

Hermione was settled into the library unharmed, but grumpy. Norman served supper. 

Blood purity irked Hermione ever since she learned about it when she was 12. It was no longer active in politics but old habits were ingrained in the ancient magical bloodlines. It made her more focused on her investigative purpose in the DMLE-she had goals to go higher but she was fine now.

Tom found her struggling over abstract astrological theories. 

“You’ve read the same page for several minutes.”

“I hate this. And I hate them.” She didn’t however hate the case. 

“Okay. Why do you think they turned themselves in?” Tom sat across the table and turned the book of the stars to see what exactly she was struggling over. Hermione pointed out the abstract of planetary alignments. “They fulfilled their purpose. And this will sound crazy, but I think we arrested mimics. The healers don’t understand why, but their wounds haven’t scabbed over yet. Mimics aren’t supposed to exist in groups. They are solitary.” 

Tom gently pulled the book back and shut it. “Listen to me.” She looked at him. Tom couldn’t always identify emotional reactions, so he took his best guess. “You know more than you think you do. But you are approaching this wrong.” He pulled out a scrap of parchment. 

“Write down your theory. Don’t show it to me.” Hermione scribbled long enough to need more paper. Tom acquired tea. “Okay. Now what?”

“What do you need to prove these?” She panicked. “That’s not how this works.” Tom shushed her. “No. But you’ll adjust as needed, right? It’s not your thing, but you’ve gotten better.” 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. She wanted to be mad at him, but he wasn’t wrong. 

“All I’m saying is don’t box yourself in for what should be the right answer. Now, however, we are leaving the house. We need air.” 

Hermione didn’t argue. She did need a break away and nothing of use awaited her in her temp flat. She let him help her into her cloak. “I’ve spent 36 hours with you.” Tom shrugged, stepping away for his own. “And?”

“We always needed space. I have some idea where you are going, but-”

“-but we screwed up before?” Hermione scrunched her face. They did sabotage their own relationship, but she wasn’t unconvinced that they wouldn’t have separated to get to their current paths.

“If it helps any, I have business to attend to until the weekend. Do you have plans this weekend?” Hermione didn’t. Tom suspected as such. “Peter Pettigrew-a friend and steward-is celebrating his recent birthday. I’d like you to be my plus one.” 

She cocked her head. “That’s a statement to your Noble Assembly if I’ve ever seen one. To what end?” Tom closed the distance between them. He stroked her cheek, smirking as he voiced his schemes. Hermione leaned into his hand and held his forearm. 

“I intend to read to you. And then, I intend to let your dress pool at your feet as I remember all 7 of your freckles hidden around you and see if that one spot is just as ticklish as it was before.” 

“I kick when I get tickled.” She kissed his palm, like those were the most romantic words she had ever said. “And last I checked, it was mutually pleasing to be tossed around, and pinned, and we never could quite find the right tie-” A laugh escaped Hermione. She quieted him with a finger on his lips. “Fine. But first we walk, and then I tell you what color that damn tattoo Ginny made me get is. It’s not black and white.” 

“You have a tattoo?”

~

Hermione resisted looking at her parchment notes all the rest of the week. But knowing that she had an idea kept her going and made some incredible connections. She was excited to update her boss when he flooed her ahead of schedule. 

There wasn’t time to update him before the seriousness of Mr. Gardener’s face made her ask why he called. 

“We got an anonymous tip that a girl was murdered yesterday. You’re the closest agent we have. An owl is delivering a portkey.”

“Okay. Where?”

“It's a new estate, Caithness. Owned by Lord James Monroe. They found a body of a servant girl. She was--branded.” 

Hermione couldn’t stop forgetting that she had already met the man. She meditated practically to suppress her dislike for the man to remain unbiased. She stepped out of the storm that was her arrival in Northern Scotland and shivered. She was prepared enough, but very uncomfortable. She knew the drill, as did the local in charge. Her quill kept writing as she kept talking about the incredibly new estate. The old buildings were unsalvageable so they tore it down and built it back up.

The magic was older than the family, Hermione noted wryly. Lord James Monroe and his wife, Aila, stood with their young man of a son, Leith, while local enforcement took statements and asked questions. Two more children had already married. Hermione would verify them and have them sign with quills that lit up if they felt guilty. It was imperfect, but more advanced than their previous generations' technique of blind trust. 

Hermione’s specialty kept her off the street going after random thugs and more localized to lost causes. From this, she found the laylines. She mapped the grounds. All the old magic was left undisturbed but that was more unsettling than finding something. That meant the dead servant girl was murdered for a far more mundane reason. She was from a family of 4: oldest of 3 kids, one mom. They all worked and had recently been able to move to a house. A quick glance told her the M of the family seal and M on her cold thigh were identical. 

It didn’t fit the family. He wasn’t decent to Hermione but actively interacted with his few servants. She guessed they were all related family somehow. 

His gaze hardened upon seeing Hermione. He was a strange kind of asshole. But she didn’t think he was a murderer. She did think someone wanted her to think he was a murderer. Hermione had a tool for this.

It was something she was developing with the twins. Arguably, it was a toy, and they marketed it to teenagers and a weird party game they were developing. Hermione so far had enough useful results to keep using the modified remembrall. She nicknamed it the emotional remembrall. 

“Hello, Lord, Lady-”

“Hello Inspector Granger.” 

She smiled sardonically. Lord Monroe had an effect on people like that. “I saw your statements. Thank you for signing. There’s one final procedure and I will leave you alone.”

“Until we see you on Saturday.” Hermione stopped smiling. She wanted to hex him into the nearest sea. His wife rolled her eyes. She muttered to him in gaelic. He turned red before clearing his throat and looked back at Hermione.

“I need you to read your statement, outloud, and hold this please.” Bewildered and slightly annoyed, all involved did it once Lord Monroe did. 

Hermione returned cold, annoyed, and conflicted. Perhaps it was best to give her findings to another agent. Mr. Gardener would understand, once he knew that she actually had leads to follow up on. 

She did just that a few hours later. The ERB sat on her desk. Hermione wasn’t brave enough to submit it as evidence until the DMLE approved it. 

The brief trip had derailed her focus. A walk through the woods sort of cleared her head. She fumbled with the ERB after charming it to a new memory. Now, it stared at her from it’s stand. It was fully dark by the time Hermione had written down everything she needed to study it, and let it charge. 8 servants, 9 charges were used. 

The odd extra didn’t become odd until Hermione slept with fitful dreams.

She walked through the woods between the crime scene and the portkey again, like she re-lived those few minutes in her sleep. Her gloves faded to a much better leather-dragon hide. A weight settled on her hips. Her slacks-a very distinct choice because running in long skirts was hard- fell with layers of fabric to make a full skirt and a high collared bodice to match. Her cloak was much warmer-a thick chimera fur that sparked against the natural magical boundaries of the forest. Each tree had its own, much like each person did. 

Trees also felt fear. 

Loud, life dependent screams fell silent in a charm ring all around Hermione. The woman fell to the ground as she tripped on her skirts. She looked up at Hermione-

Hermione woke up with wand in hand. 

She found the murder scene and she couldn't even do anything official about it! It nagged her like a dangling carrot that the two events were probably connected. The only immediate link was that the murderer was connected to Lord Monroe's charming personality. 

Perhaps there was another muggle born or half blood besides Tom in the assembly. Tom wasn't a cold blooded sporadic murderer. He was far too calculated to do something to get caught for someone so unimportant.

Good thing she was going to Peter Pettigrew's party. She needed information. 

She arrived at Riddle Manor armed in a stunning "informal" dress provided by Pansy. Hermione checked in with Ginny, as she was due to be home, but Harry answered the floo.

His explanation of a post-quiddich cold was reasonable enough but Hermione couldn't help but feel like something was off. Ginny had never found Tom to be quite normal even back then, but Hermione hoped by now that she would have changed her mind a little.

There was still time. Meanwhile, Hermione stood at the door with butterflies in her stomach and an uncomfortable breeze going up her dress robe. The slit was necessary to walk, but not ideal with a short cloak. Supposedly the fashion was to suffer. 

Norman opened the door with a wide happy, smile. “Mistress Granger! Come come. You need to meet someone while we wait for Master Tom.” Hermione stumbled her way hand in hand with the house elf on heels just a little too tall. She laughed into the sitting room. 

“Norman-oh! Who is this?”

Three other house elves, two of them children dangled their legs feet off the human sized furniture. They all wore household patchwork scrapped clothing and the children’s eyes were bigger than their head. “Missus is Victoria. The oldest is Pear. Youngest is Margarita Gabriella-” He continued on. Hermione paid attention to each and every word and had no awareness that Tom came up behind her. 

“I see you’ve met the family,” Tom murmured to her. He came close and stayed until Norman realized his Master had arrived. Hermione enjoyed his warmth as he dared to hold her arms affectionately. “Sorry Master, so-”

“It’s okay Norman. But we should still go. There’s a portkey waiting for us in the greenhouse. I’m sure Pansy lectured you on the commonness of floo powder on-” Tom eyed Hermione’s dress, the flash of leg- “Dresses. Do you have your wand?” Hermione flashed her left forearm. It was DMLE auror’s holster, but the black at least matched the dark blue.

The process also showed the shoulders covered by not enough straps in Hermione’s opinion and some flimsy lace for sleeves. She didn’t have to read his mind to know that Pansy’s goal worked. 

They were always comfortable in mutual silence. Hermione had to brace herself for the upcoming snake pit. 

“You’ll be fine. Oddly, it was Lord Monroe who recently sent out an owl for other’s to keep their thoughts to themselves.” Hermione frowned. That was good she recognized, but made her wonder who else hated her presence. “But he was the loudest complainer.” Tom tsked. “But some old traditions still run deep. Malfoy, Crabbe, or Goyle will always be nearby. Remember, nearly anything can be fixed with an Obliterate.” 

There was little time to adjust to Tom’s arm looped through hers and the nauseating effects of a portkey. She nearly tripped on a very quiet, obedient servant who dutiful caught her stumble into another garden. It was pleasantly warm, but it was too warm for the humidity. 

“Water please,” Tom commanded. His tone was different than at home. Here he tried to command a space more than he already did. “Yes, Sir.”’ Hermione drank until it was easier to breathe and they quietly watched visitors arrive after them. The gardens were absolutely magically enhanced in smell, color, and alive despite it being november. 

“Are you okay?” Hermione nodded. “It struck me that unlike the DMLE ball, my job title means nothing here.” She didn’t say it too often, but Hermione had no idea who she was sometimes past school, her blood, her job. “It could if you want. Everyone knows it. You will be stared at tonight.” His dark eyes draggled slowly up and down Hermione’s shoes to the top of her head. “Whether it is Parkinson’s good taste, or the fact that you actually hold more legal power than most of those inside that house.” Tom held out his hand. He looked particularly good in wizarding dress robes, but he chose pants tonight. The tie was a dark blood red. 

“One day, you’ll realize it. Also one day, you’ll learn that you think very loudly and I know you're going because you need to find a series of very bad affluent wizards who have killed a village and the Monroe servant girl.” Hermione looked up from her hands, concerned. Tom pulled her closer to kiss the corner of her mouth. “Don’t worry. I’m on your side.” 

Hermione flipped a mental switch and walked in like she owned the place. Tom made it easy after he made initial introductions, but soon they seperated. Traditionally she was supposed to find the wives and women of power to make pleasant social ties. Instead she walked. She listened. The crowd was spread in the three rooms Peter Pettigrew designated as a party space. Hermione soon was paid no mind unless she met their gaze.

“The ritual” came up several times, as well as “the dark council” was a mystery to who they actually were. People actively speculated names as alcohol flowed. Hermione had a list of very fake names, led by a very dramatic leader: Voldemort. They also referenced the full moon. This year, it was the 21st-a very convenient day for all of their children, some noted. They could partake at home and contribute from afar in their own family ritual room. 

She heard one toast to those who sacrificed themselves to create the capstone center-wherever that was. 

The dead servant girl was a promise to those who spoke against Voldemort’s core tenant: Do not speak against what was his. 

The night progressed into dinner, and dinner would progress into dancing where there would be too much small talk for Hermione to remain graceful. The dinner toast threw all of the fear and awe based commentary to the wind.

Peter led the toast as the host and reason they gathered. “Tonight we gather to celebrate a moment that hasn’t happened since our grandfathers-” It was true. There was no one older than maybe Hermione’s parents in the room. “The land cries for our sacrifice and we will give it for our next generation. To each of us who has lost and will gain the peace of mind in our protections. We honor their passing. The ceimeanna! treoraigh an bealach go dtí an geata.”

The gealic was strange to Hermione but not entirely unfamiliar. It was yet another she had considered trying to learn how to read but she never spoke it well. Glancing around, she seemed to be a minority. 

“In addition, we have confirmed that there will be a Lord of Assembly for the first time in 250 years. The public announcement of who will be done on the first of January. Please see your local noble estates to petition by December 1st.” The excitement spread among the ballroom of guests as dinner was called. 

It was assigned seating. Hermione already knew her placement, to the right of Tom. He smiled when he saw her approach. Butterflies twisted in her stomach. Hermione promptly squashed them. It however did not escape her that everyone was looking at Tom. He too was in brighter spirits than before. Presumably, he had already petitioned himself to the highest ranking lord before all of this. 

The woman next to Hermione waited for her seat to be pulled out. Her glamored dark hair did not match the age lines in her grey eyed face. “So you are Lord Riddle’s…” Tom and Hermione stared at the woman struggling to find words.

Hermione had no idea what they were, but some uppity Lady wasn’t going to hurry her decision. 

“Companion I believe is the word you are looking for. And you are?” The woman was actually the widow of the son of the last known Assembly Lord. She was in history books even. Hermione wrote an essay on her. Redness flooded the woman's face as the 1st course was served. Under the table, Tom squeezed her hand with a sinister smile towards Lady Margaret of Oxford. 

Dinner wasn’t even done before more nobility of various rank greeted Tom, and Hermione by default. They patiently conversed all while rapidly becoming more and more anxious. Hermione vibrated with the urge to move by the announcement of dancing. Abruptly, Tom interrupted someone to look square at her. 

“Would you like to dance?” 

“Yes.” The small group parted for them and Hermione breathed a sigh. “I assume that you’ll have more of that when you win by popular vote.” Tom merely smiled and tilted his head. 

“And over time, you will too.” Hermione blinked. She had words to say but she didn’t know what to say, until Peter once again started projecting.

“It is my honor to defer the first dance to our Dark Lord of the Hogsmeade Leyline, and his companion, Hermione Granger.” 

Tom walked out, unsurprised at the turn of events, holding Hermione’s hand up. 

He bowed and the music started. Much like all those years at Hogwarts, the crowd melted away and they started to move. 

It was easy for them to be swept away by the mood until the final song. His hands were warm and firm against her as he moved them. She flowed with his movements. They never ran out of words together when they wanted to break the silence, or interrupt another who insisted on forcing conversation on them. 

Tom’s intention was clear by the end of the night. Hermione found herself speculating and thinking of what ifs. She was glad her underwear matched her bra! Briefly she forgot she had a secondary reason to be there.

They giggled as the portkey to the Riddle estate landed them in a pile of her skirt. A servant stood politely while they gathered themselves. It was late and Hermione had 200% interest in not going home. She had every intention of creating a pile of clothing they didn’t need, and find them all in the morning. She shushed him with a finger. 

“Read this. It’s my favorite poem.” He did, with a slow realization. Tom made sure to punctuate his words in just the right way to caress Hermione's ears, although he had no doubt never read this muggle work written by Anonymous before. 

The frost covered hedge maze glowed in the moonlight. It was peaceful with the wind and trees rustling. His voice carried like a melody. 

“This was a good night, Tom. Thank you for inviting me.” He held her hand tightly. At a point in the night he never stopped touching her, and she sought him out when he was dragged away. Tom pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her waist. “I’ve never wanted another by my side. I’m sorry. I was an idiot to not fight for you.” Hermione bent her head in thought. He wasn’t prone to spontaneous emotions in any capacity, and he balanced that by being incredibly blunt. To her, anyways. 

“I believe you,” she said before surging at him for a kiss.

There were only a few moments before he apparetted them both to his bedroom. Her dress fell down around her feet, followed by his coat. She took his tie and pulled him down with her. 

Dawn came sooner than later with a tap on the window. They woke up tangled in limbs and bedsheets.

“You have an owl.”

“Or you have an owl,” he humbled into her hair.

“It’s insistent-” she had the best view of the window, and a familiar golden claw from the DMLE golden owls flashed in the sunlight. Hermione sat up. She clutched a blanket to her when she realized what it was. “And it's official.” 

Hermione didn’t consider the possibility that it was for Tom, and not her, and read out the intro in absent minded thought. “Lord Thomas Marvelo Riddle-you are summoned-” Tom took the note without a care in a panic grab. “What?” He already pulled on pants while Hermione’s thoughts reeled. She pulled on her clothing in the midst of concern. 

Tom was wanted for questioning for the murder of Bea Smithsfield, the servant of Lord James Monroe. 

Hermione saw the scene of the murder and recalled feelings-and all the thoughts that weren’t hers but maybe brought on by dreams. What was real? Was her ERB completely wrong? Worst, was it right?

“‘Mione?” 

“I have to go.” 

In a half zipped dress, Hermione threw on her cloak, pulled her hood up, and vanished from his room with a CRACK.

Hermione committed two whole days to crying, another day to clean her apartment, and another just rereading everything.

She collaborated her suspicions the best she could.

The crossroads of the Hogsmeade layline was directly under the fountain, with the strange stones that matched nothing else she had seen in the area. “Passing through the gates” was a ritual phrase for a sacrifice for the most mythical ritual she could find associated with Leylines, specifically for the Athchóirigh an geata. The gates needed to be restored. The ritual itself required 6 months of willing blood and a dark lord to command the magic, ideally, the actual Lord who had magical tie to the area. Between the old families that were present at the party, there was more than enough ritual capable casters in Tom’s circle to accomodate 10 rituals. Specifically, 5 point casters could easily be Tom, Bella, Rudolphus, Malfoy Sr., and Pettigrew. It had been through all the news that there was a major planetary alignment that muggle and wizarding world alike looked forward to. They would touch on December 21st. The powerful would be more powerful and if there was any time to balance the laylines, Hermione reasoned then would be the best. 

Her final questions were why the laylines needed to be balanced and where, because she didn’t suppose that they would want to do this all in the middle of town. She didn’t want to know the who, she realized. The brief component of one final sacrifice concerned her. 

The concern that solving this would lead to many enemies crossed her mind. 

She spent weeks going back and forth between the DMLE library, hogwarts, and the bookstore to answer what she could. 

The old blank book she bought ended up with her when she gathered paperwork into her bag and ran out one day. She had an appointment and didn't want to be late to Minerva or Snape, again. 

Hermione had a good old fashioned book spill when she didn’t pay attention looking through her bag, and ran straight into Snape. They were cordial now-professor to inspector. 

The way he held that strange unintentional purchase made her flashback to when he assumed correctly that she, Harry, and Ron were doing shenanigans but couldn’t prove it. She took it far too quickly to be innocent and dipped into the library before he could ask any questions. 

Supposedly the laylines could pop under pressure. Once vulnerable terrible things would be seen by the innocents of this world. What kind of protection ritual required blood loss and remained desirable? The villages killed up until this point were part of a very old path along the layline map are the areas. These villages were as old as Hogsmeade but far less known. Some towns along this way were referenced in muggle archaeology as abandoned cities with crater marks. Muggle research tentatively concluded these were the precursor to controlled explosives. 

Either intentional or by accident, the summer violence happened because of the layline depressurization. Perhaps, were the dark wizards that they captured trying to save them but failed?

The more information she translated, the worse it all read in modern day wizardry.

She couldn’t say this was a true crime in pure factualities. Desperate to do something else with her hands to clear her head, she flipped through that strange book. 

There was text in it. No, it was another page? Where’d it go? She saw the words, and addresses and numbers, and they all disappeared before she could find them again. She slammed it open with a frustrated grunt on top of all her research parchment. Margin notes appeared with a series of circles. Her wand on her forearm triggered more writing to appear, including familiar maps.

Hogsmead, Hogwarts, and the Riddle estate all were roughly depicted with art and scribbles and short hand. 

It was written in magic. Not Merlin’s magical alphabet but dictated from someone magical into words. Hermione hazarded a guess it was a house elf. They had no written language understandable by mages.

“Norman?” She spoke and wrote at the same time.

A bad picture of a pear showed up. 

‘Nonononono! Don’t read. Daddy!’ Huh, Hermione thought as she sat back. ‘Daddy told me not to speak in his writing book! Go away!’ Hermione refused to over analyze things for 2 minutes and asked ‘why?’. 

‘Becausemasterspeaksanddaddynotesbecausetheearthwithshakeandtheskywillfall. I’M NOT ALLOWED TO TALK TO YOU.’ That was a threat, but Hermione still giggled at the delivery. 

‘I don’t like being mean. I drew you a picture. Daddy always draws these and didn’t say I couldn’t redraw those.’

Pages exploded in kid drawings. They were very rough forms of the maps she only saw briefly of. Hermione recognized the weird set of double stairs that were probably rocks in a secret path out of hogwarts. She fell down those. Her right knee still ached when it was cold. 

Tom being the murderer still weighed on her. If everything was truly in the name of saving the laylines, a random murder didn’t fit in. 

It was plausible it was an independent event. 

Pear still sent doodles as Hermione opened another book on laylines. Soon, the house elf child started singing about 5s. It was easy to enjoy the strange company. There was a brief moment of light to the world. 

‘Here is the beehive, where are the bees! Hiding inside where nobody sees. Watch them come out, creeping in pents! 0 5s, 1 5s, 2 5s, 3 5s.’

The lullaby rhyme stuck in Hermione’s head as she decided to head home, exploring their old sneaking grounds. There was a fork that lead to an opening above ground, the right, but they never ventured to the left after the one student died in their third year. Cederic was in a hurry and past curfew. He paid with it by a mysterious unsolved death. 

So tonight, Hermione went left and hoped she wouldn’t meet his fate. The uneventful path grew older and more similar to the structures found in parts of Hogsmeade. They however lived nothing up to the horror stories they all had created in their school years. 

Hermione stopped in a large circular room. Ice froze down the walls. She looked up-the Hogsmeade city seal negatively impressed into the space. She was under the fountain. There was an escape into a back alley and Hermione hummed in excitement. She not only had answers, but they made sense!

The bees rhyme crept into her dreams. She found herself identifying groups of five, seeing roman numeral five, and even walked and out of her bathroom five times. Hermione added that to questions for her consultation that day-Luna hopefully was going to tell her she wasn’t wrong and she hadn’t wasted her time and possibly only had to worry about Tom proving himself irrelevant to Bea’s murder. They were meeting in a small, new cafe. It was the most nargle free of all of Hogsmeade. Nargles only gathered where negativity had time to gather, and Cafe Coffee, muggle inspired, was new for the season. 

Hermione did have to laugh. Even months ago that would have been a giant red flag but now it was the smallest of her problems. 

All in all Luna agreed with her. The blonde looked over everything. She listened to Hermione. For 20 minutes she launched into a story about a city that fell into a well. Hermione half listened-but five still lingered on her tongue. 

“You weren’t listening.” Hermione jerked back into awareness. “I’m sorry. I’m still worried about the number five.” 

Luna flipped her hair back over her shoulder. Instant awareness changed from fantastical story telling. Clearly the Well Story was significant and contained a myth of some kind. “Oh? The rule of five. That’s boring. It’s old magic. Nothing weird about it. In times of need, one out of five of the same blood would die. That’s why there were so many kids, or one kid. You can’t sacrifice the heir unless, I guess, the laylines were truly about to implode. Now with enough influence, they could always choose a surrogate. But the well. You need to listen to this.”

Hermione gave Luna all of her attention. “I’m sorry.” Luna half smiled. “Hogsmeade could fall into the well. Like Shropshire. And it took 500 years for that area to be habitable again. Hogwarts would fall in too.” 

It came up later in the strange lucidity that Luna had-where everything that was magical made all the sense in the world, and that was exactly how it was supposed to be. “I have a question, if you don’t mind Hermione.” Hermione chewed on a pretzel in formative thought. “Shoot.”

“What?”

“Go ahead.”

“Does the lord of this manor want you to find out who murdered her? Was she actually murdered? By law, I mean.” That formed a lump in Hermione’s throat. It was true that on some estates, the freedom laws were barely there in name, and everyone was owned by the Lord.

“I don’t know.” Hermione apologized again with food, and a hug, and made every effort to listen to Luna talk before Luna flooed home to Newt.

Hermione sent out an owl to Lord Monroe to request an audience before she went home. 

~

They met at Hogs head. 

“Hello,” she greeted. The middle aged man was more tired than she remembered. He looked like he needed a good sleep that he hadn’t gotten in a long time. 

“I presume you’ve realized there’s more to this than at first glance. The other DMLE guy took first glance at our Manor-Servant agreement and left us to our own devices.” So it was straight to business. That was fine.

“I didn’t realize ownership also included forfeiture of life.” James shrugged. He set his teeth, and looked over at her. Guilt haunted him.

“I didn’t either. And I didn’t understand the territory agreement. Scotland has no layline bonded Lord. Lord Riddle is the nearest. Until that family is found, he is my lord, beyond the assembly title. It was my youngest, or...Bea.” Hermione should have felt nauseated from disgust. Instead she was just tired. 

“Was this a powerplay?” James loudly snorted. “Everything Riddle does is a powerplay. He even has a fake name for the worst of it, just so he can stay a little human. But it's true, the layline is at risk. There’s been more muggle sightings this month and after enough, Hogsmeade will cease to exist safely.” 

Hermione and Lord James Monroe parted slightly better friends than enemies. She felt bad for the man and Bea. She wanted to hate Tom, but clearly this was more than a superficial power madness. All the papers and back issues correlated James’s statement. Since her arrival, muggles had wandered into Hogsmeade alone 27 times. The last one brought something she recognized as a recorder. The item itself was held in the local police station. These were individuals good enough to keep the peace, but not good enough to join the DMLE. 

The recorder was easy to acquire with a flash of a badge. The words themselves were garbled. That was the effect of hogsmeade on muggle technology. But the fact that the batteries weren’t dead yet and any of the words were audible was incredibly concerning. 

Tuesday morning on December 16th, a helicopter crashed into the fountain. It was noon. 21 wizards, 15 adults and 6 children, were injuried and apparated to St. Mungos. 3 died on the table. 11 more died on impact. 

Hermione felt the shake, and like everyone else, ran out to see. There was shrapnel and rocks and moaning for yards from the impact sight. 

She imagined that if the combat would have gone any longer at Hogwarts, this is what the grounds would have looked like, littered with dead and wounded. 

The helicopter inhabitants died upon contact, except one. The copilot looked up in fear as what Hermione learned, the heart attack took her. The companion aircraft a few minutes behind it shattered into the emergency magical barrier erected quickly by the locals. In itself, the act was draining. The eldest wizard fell into a coma after casting. Soon, he would wake up but with what functions no one knew. 

Everyone, Hermione included, helped to sort out the carnage. Tom called in emergency resources. 4 days later, it was a merely bad memory. This was the Flying Craft Massacre now in the books. Untold complications would unfold, but those were problems for another time.

Now Hogsmeade was big news in the magical community and a pain in the ass for the DMLE. They needed answers for the violence and Hermione had to present something.

But what?

The truth of this was that a secret group of wizards led by Tom Riddle had foreseen this. They had already made steps to prevent this. The helicopter was a concern of unfortunate timing. 

It made Hermione feel better to confirm that Tom Marvelo Riddle was Voldemort the Dark Lord of the Hogsmead laylines. He never was a creative one really. She’d have to help him do more than rearrange some letters in his name to create a secret identity. One, she noted, that everyone but her knew about. 

Wizards were terrible at secrecy in the grand scheme of things. 

On the evening of the 20th, Hermione arrived on Tom’s doorstep. Norman wearing a sack answered. He held his posture within the burlap. 

“Mistress Granger! You want to see Master Tom?” Hermione nodded, and waited in the designated room.

“Hello there,” she started. Tom matched her in awkwardness often, in private. “Hello.”

“I have a problem.” Hermione blurted it out because it was better than sitting there wringing her hands. “Oh? Norman, tea please.” 

Eagerly, the house elf disappeared. “Don’t worry. He can wear his normal clothes tomorrow. But letting his book fall into his daughter’s hands was not acceptable. I’m surprised you were the one to find it.” Hermione moved over on the couch. Tom sat down slowly. His posture was cautious. “Did you ever find out why the book ended up in the store?”

Tom shrugged. “I considered it. I decided it wasn’t the worst since you found it. I have bigger concerns.” Ah ha, there was her opening.

“Well now, I also have concerns about that.” Tom jerked to look at her. “The DMLE is sending down a whole herd of people to investigate. I need to know what to tell them.” 

They both were grateful for the appearance of tea.

“So,” he choked on his tea. “What would you like me to do with this?” Hermione half shrugged. Her fingers tightened around the cup handle. “I’d like no more people to die.” 

~

Hermione adjusted her formal holiday attire in her bathroom. Harry and Ginny, Ron and Pansy were waiting in her boring living room. Luna was busy in town managing all the rituals Hogsmead was trying to do to fix the layline and the reinforce the barrier. 

Tom’s solution was to delegate. He told the very basic truth: There were complications to restore the laylines. A few favors later, the DMLE pulled back their full power in the way of a much smaller investigation with more research specialists. Citizens of Hogsmeade were celebrating life and magic and Tom gave them all the tools they needed.

Unbeknownst to everyone the Athchóirigh an geata, or Restore the Gate ritual happened below the city in the caverns below. Hermione led everyone on the magical tour and let them make their own conclusions with their higher salaries-and therefore reduced care of detail-for the days they stayed. Their answers were close to the truth, but the darker details were brushed off as “symbolic” sacrifices. Hermione never shared all of her results, meanwhile. They received just enough information.

Tonight the five of them were invited to Tom’s house for celebration on the 25th. She was tired and grateful for the change. Ginny said she would try to accept Tom. Pansy rolled her eyes because as far as she knew, Tom and Hermione were still idiots. 

“Ready kids?” Ron threw a chip at her. “Just because you are two months older does not make us your kids.”

“She was the only one to save your asses from Snape all those times. Better be nice or her rich powerful not boyfriend will bury you in the woods.”

They laughed. Hermione didn’t mind that it was the truth, now. He did what he needed to do to save Hogsmeade. 

They met that night and Tom charmed everyone. Pansy revealed a pregnancy. Ginny told her that she was retiring in 2 years from the Harpies. She considered journalism.

Hermione never warmed up to Rudolphus, but apparently Bella decided to separate. Divorse didn’t happen to wizarding nobles. He died the next winter solstice, the details were fuzzy, but Hermione still didn’t mind because it saved someone innocent dying in the name of magic. Old Hermione would have been aghast at her casual disregard for justice. That was why Hermione quit the DMLE full time and became a Magical Historian Consult. It paid better, among other things. 

~

Years later, Hermione strolled out in her soft post ritual robe. She was newest to their circle, but equally respected. This was the spring solstice and far less important than the winter solstice. Bella’s imperioused boyfriend rubbed her feet as she splayed naked but for a loosely tied robe on a couch, with very expensive wine. Soft music played in the background. Tom had a glass of warmed wine waiting for her on their prefered loveseat. Lucius and Draco Malfoy joined them. Draco’s own separated wife was at home, but Pansy joined them in her absense. Since the beginning, she learned that Snape also participated occasionally but tonight he and Pettigrew would be absent. 

Tom pulled something out of his pocket. Bella and Pansy immediately noticed the jewelry box, the boys shortly after. He opened the box and set it between them. He didn’t say anything, but thought it instead.

‘Will you marry me?’

~

Fin


End file.
